


Of mammals, birds and reptiles

by Jessa_yeah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, F/F, Friendship, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Post-War Hogwarts, Recovery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-20 00:12:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12421065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessa_yeah/pseuds/Jessa_yeah
Summary: Post-war Hogwarts. A small note appears on the announcement board in the hall, offering extracurricular courses. Ginny and Hermione take on the challenge.





	Of mammals, birds and reptiles

The summer had been a strange one: all happiness and sadness and aching scars, and a lack of purpose that was new to Hermione. Once most funerals were over, she spend her time curled up on the couch of her parents or Grimmauld's place, a lot of times joined by Harry, who was fleeing the press and people in general, and sometimes joined by Ron or Ginny, who were escaping the empty crowdedness of the Burrow. She cried; because of grief, because of terror, because of uncertainty and what happened or could have happened. She laughed, a little; at show-off birds at sunrise, when Ron was being silly, at old Disney movies and childhood books, at finding her dad fast asleep on the couch, his glasses askew and a science magazine on his chest. She jumped, heart racing and wand in hand, at sudden noises. She slept, exhausted, between nightmares.

One morning, she got out of bed and didn't need to tell herself a reason to do it. 

Sometimes, her parents watched her and she felt like they didn't know each other anymore. That one year, spent a world away both in distance and in experience. There were the remains of war; lines in her skin, the empty whiteness of hunger and the constricting feel of fear still sharp in her mind; but there were also her love of the scent of books, her analytical mind, her clumsy fingers and irritation at injustice. Those were not new to her. And then, slowly, there came the new things: a new found love for fresh gardens and cosy kitchens; that sweet muggle girl she met in the local library; new books and movie series; driving with her parents to little seaside towns. She scraped herself back together with old memories and new ones, all those important little things. 

She shopped for groceries and books in small muggle shops; she ignored the ball in her stomach – so much food, I can never eat all that - when she cooked and baked and planted vegetables in the garden. Neville came to visit on sunny afternoons to advise her. His apple tart was the best she had ever tasted. 

Time was passing and the world was moving and Hermione was alive in it.

One evening, the fireplace roared alive with green flames and Hermione froze. She saw monsters in Fiendfire and why couldn't she move but, of course, it was only the Floo. Professor McGonagall asked her help with the restoration of Hogwarts. Bravery is not an absence of fear. Hermione was terrified of crumbled walls and scorched floors. She went anyway. She would not let the war take Hogwarts from her. It was worth fighting for.

Hermione hugged Harry tight; she inhaled Ron's comforting scent deeply after she kissed him. Then the three of them left for Hogwarts. The rest of that summer, Hermione worked herself in sweat, searched her brain for bits of magic that might be useful. Students, teachers and parents came and went. Only Minerva McGonagall, now newly appointed Headmistress, always stayed, Pomona Sprout and Rolanda Hooch often at her side in the evenings. Hermione sometimes wondered about their relationship, when she wasn't distracted by how good the Headmistress looked in jeans and sensible boots. She had never gotten entirely over her old crush, something Pervati gently teased her with. 

They ate all together, first in the staff room and when that became too small for the number of volunteers, in the great hall. As the dust was being cleared, rubble cleaned, marks scrubbed, Hermione could feel the war sink into her bones, too: faded, covered, but still there, always there. She rubbed the lines that spelled mudblood on her arm and turned onto her other side at night. 

Some nights, she climbed the astronomy tower with Cho; she walked with Luna alongside the lake and it dawned on her that she now understood that you don't have to actually see things for them to still be there. She talked with Neville and Pomona in newly-planted gardens, sat with Parvati and Padma in front of the fire as they plaited each other's beautiful black hair, and she missed Lavender's bright lipgloss-grin and Colin's restless energy with a sudden, fierce ache. 

She estranged from Ron over the course of the summer. It seemed to her they had both grown in different directions after the war, and while there would always be a deep bond between them, she struggled to find words to say to him, things that they shared in the present time. Hermione sometimes thought Ron shot up like a sunflower, tall towards the sunlight, craving new sights and adventures and recognition; she crawled close to the warm, comforting earth rather like a strawberry. The growing distance between them was aching. The beginning of August they broke up. Ron drifted off to the Aurors shortly after that; filled with grief and understanding, she hugged him goodbye and watched him go. Harry followed Ron, but she wondered if Auror was really the job for him. But what did she want to do with her life, anyway? Sometimes, just 'on' is good enough. Get through another hour, another day, until somehow it does not seem so difficult anymore.

Hermione got invitations and offers by owl. More and more students left Hogwarts for jobs, internships, travel, studies, businesses. A hot August went by. New, tiny students came by train the first of September.

She decided to stay, that year. 

The dormitories made no sense anymore, so Hermione moved into a large room with Ginny, Hannah and Susan on the seventh floor with a beautiful view over the lake. The four of them curled up on bed together when the night was too empty, or not empty enough. They studied beneath the restored roof, chatted and wrote essays and carefully allowed themselves to fall asleep in the chairs before the fire. As the weather worsened, Ginny took to the sky more often; Hermione saw her eyeing her Holly Harpies poster on the wall and knew that a future was opening for her as the clouds closed in on the castle. 

Distraction came a few weeks before Halloween in the form of a small notice on the announcement board in the hall, offering advanced courses for those who would like to take on an extra-curriculum activity. Hermione was curious. She made an appointment and took Ginny with her because her friends gaze was even harder than usual. They met Headmistress McGonagall in her own tidy but warm office; there were some rumors speaking of McGonagall preferring to use her old office after having furious rows with both Dumbledore's and Snape's portraits. The Headmistress made them tea and sat down, strict eyes softened with age and grief and tiredness looking at them.  
“Now, what can I offer you, Hermione and Ginny?” 

Hermione surprised herself with her reply that she wanted to become an animagus. Ginny stared at her. Hermione felt her cheeks go hot and smiled uncertainly at her friend, then averted her gaze back to towards professor McGonagall. On the seat sat only a tabby cat. The both of them blinked. Blinked again, and then the professor was back, smirking at their faces. Hermione thought she looked much younger then than she had before. 

“Why do you want to become a one?” Ginny asked her later that night, when they had climbed into the windowsill and had wrapped themselves in woolen blankets. Hermione looked outside, at the dark blue of the night, the clouded sky, the vague shimmer of moon and waves on the lake. “I want to see if I can do it. What I will be. I want to be the one who changes me,” she replied, after a while. “You?”  
Ginny shrugged her shoulders, looking bony, fragile, but actually so very strong. The shadow of a branch moved across her pale, freckled face, and Hermione strangely felt her heart swell in her chest. “You already know, don't you? I need to do something hard, something consuming. It's the only way to drown out thoughts... and whispers.”  
“Oh, Ginny” I said. We didn't speak any more that night, but she wrapped her arms around me and rested her head against my shoulder. I felt her hot tears, finally. I hoped she was grieving for herself, all she had lost. 

It was hard work, the theory among the most complex Hermione had ever read, the magic absorbing all her concentration and skill, leaving her exhausted. She ploughed through it step by logical step, took notes, wrote summaries down in neat script. Ginny met the challenge like she would do a quidditch game: head on, skilled. Daring to let herself down.  
Hermione watched her searing across the dark sky on the evenings off, sometimes accompanied by Rolanda Hooch or Cho, saw the glow of her flaming red hair and had suddenly an idea what her animagus form might be.  
Ginny had told her she already felt the animal within herself move, take shape. Although Hermione was ahead of her in training, she was far less certain of her own form, and a bit jealous of Ginny's intuition, how she had found focus in her life. Professor McGonagall – no, Minerva - had told her not to worry about it: it will come to her soon enough. There was a hint of hidden knowledge there, but Hermione daren't ask. 

Days grew even shorter, colder; a little detached, Hermione watched fairy lights and decorations adorn the castle walls. They spend the Christmas holidays in the Burrow. Charlie came home with new stories about tiny baby dragons; George with strange pasties he tried to slip between Molly's excellent ones; Ron surprisingly accompanied by Astoria Greengrass, who had also joined the Aurors. Harry had left the training just before Christmas and applied to a teacher's traineeship instead. Hermione hugged them all tight, watched them doing things, moving, growing, and if Arthur's eyes suddenly filled with tears, or Molly snapped at them, or George went still sometimes, well, that was only to be expected. 

On Christmas Eve in the warm business of the Burrow, Ginny asked if she could kiss her. Love is not a salvation: it saves no one, it is merely a source of comfort and joy if you want it, maybe. Hermione refused to let Ginny's strong arms save her, but as she kissed her, a feeling of rightness settled in her stomach. She just hoped she could get to keep it.

She kissed and held hands with Ginny in the middle of student-filled hallways after that, slept each night curled around her form, craving the sound of her breathing, her warmth. She was too tired to feel much fear. She'd faced rejection and war and death eaters and torture; at only nineteen, she felt like life had already exhausted her. If people stared, she ignored them; whispering people behind their backs got a little nasty nonverbal curse in their direction. If they were lucky, it was her and not Ginny who hit them. 

To her amazement, kids started to come to her. It started with a little three-year Slytherin, whispering about a couple of fifth-years bullying them. Hermione fumed. Others came to her, after that; a note slipped in her hand, hushed words being spoken. She gave information when she had it, wrote letters to find answers she had not; offered sympathy and advise, got seventh and eighth year students to help, arranged meet-ups, gave punishments to those who deserved it, argued with teachers to change the curriculum and school rules when they were broken. These were her kids. She couldn't stand to see a single one of them hurt. Especially when a lot of things could be so easily fixed.

Four weeks into the new trimester, stepping inside a glasshouse Three looking for Neville, Hermione felt the wet heat wrap around her like a blanket, comforting, stirring something in her awake. Oh.

It took them about six months in the end to master their first transfiguration, only a few days apart. Minerva looked at both her students with fierce pride in her green eyes and took them the next weekend to her country home for celebratory drinks. Late March, the fell tops of the Lake District were still snow-clad, but sun shone on the yellow and purple flowers in the garden of the stone cottage. Pomona and Rolanda joined them outside on wooden benches and they had homemade herbal lemonade and scones and ginger newts; Hermione looked at the three witches and how they had build the life for themselves exactly as they wanted it. One stone on the other. A plant buried in soft, wet soil; new-smelling books on the table; quidditch robes hung in the closet. She looked at Ginny, who was grinning with a mischievousness looking Rolanda, having recently secured a reserve spot for herself in the Harpies quidditch team. She thought of the acceptance letter for the Oxford university studies in wizarding law and advanced transfiguration lying on her night stand; and could finally feel a future unfold in herself, too. 

Rumors started the last trimester. They told of a beautiful red kite, diving fast and acrobatic above the quidditch field; of a tabby cat with green eyes on the tribune, sitting very still. Few saw the garter snake beside it, red subtly woven through the brown pattern on its skin, contently curled around a jam jar filled with a little, blue flame.

**Author's Note:**

> I intended this to be a feel-good, adventure- and humor filled take of the 'characters become animagi' trope. It turned out a bit different. Hope you enjoy.


End file.
